


Use Your Mouth Only to Kiss My Lips

by poisonivory



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Post-Apocalypse, but like in a consensual way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-11-02 13:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: He seized Crowley’s necktie in his fist and pulled him in close. “You can bat your eyelashes at everyone who passes by,” he said. “You can wiggle your snakey behind at them. You can make them laugh. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’remine. And any time you start to forget, I will bring you back here and remind you.”“Yeah?” Crowley asked defiantly, but the flush crawling up his throat gave him away. “How?”-Crowley likes to flirt. Aziraphale likes to remind him just who he should be flirtingwith.





	Use Your Mouth Only to Kiss My Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Shakira's "The Rules," which is a bop and you should definitely go listen to it.
> 
> Thanks to [destroythemeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destroythemeek/pseuds/destroythemeek) for the beta!

Aziraphale had got caught up in a rather exciting part of his book, and so he was late meeting Crowley for lunch. He hurried into the cafe they’d agreed upon, heading for their regular table - and was surprised to find it empty, with Crowley’s familiar jacket draped over a chair to claim it, but no actual Crowley in sight.

Aziraphale looked around and soon spotted the demon leaning against the counter where the barista placed takeaway drinks to be, well, taken away. Crowley had a way of leaning as if he’d been fighting gravity’s seductive pull as long as he could and was just about to succumb; as if you could scoop him into a cup and just _pour_ him out wherever you wanted him. He was leaning like that now.

And he was smiling a very familiar smile at the barista.

The barista was young, probably in his early twenties. He wore unnecessarily tight trousers and an expression that said that paying close attention to steaming a customer’s almond milk correctly was far less interesting than talking to Crowley. Aziraphale huffed audibly and took a seat across from Crowley’s jacket.

Crowley rested his elbow on the back of the espresso machine as if he would be perfectly happy to stay there all day. The barista peeped at Crowley through his lashes, which were too far away for Aziraphale to see properly but which were probably unfairly long.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

Crowley leaned further over the counter and murmured something to the barista. The barista laughed and placed a hand on Crowley’s arm.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale called, in a voice a bit louder and less cheerful than he’d intended.

Crowley straightened up and looked around, then nodded in Aziraphale’s direction and picked up two cups on matching saucers. He said something in parting; the barista responded and Crowley, the traitor, laughed.

The barista, Aziraphale noticed, had an extremely firm jawline and a pierced ear.

“All right, angel?” Crowley asked, putting the cups down on the table and draping himself across his chair like it was a divan and not a cheap spindly thing from IKEA.

Aziraphale realized he was tugging at his earlobe and hastily folded his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “I was reading the most _interesting_ book.”

“S’alright,” Crowley drawled. He did not ask about the book. “I found a way to amuse myself.”

“I noticed,” Aziraphale said, but if Crowley heard how short his tone was, he didn’t comment on it.

The cafe’s new special was rather good, but Aziraphale found he had trouble concentrating on it, with the barista’s counter hovering in his peripheral vision. He was relieved when Crowley paid the bill and they left.

“See you, Anthony!” the barista called as they walked past, and something behind Aziraphale’s left eye socket twinged.

“Once around the park?” Aziraphale asked once they were outside. “That is, if you haven’t got something better to do.”

Crowley turned an entirely mild look on him, which was a dead giveaway that he knew that Aziraphale was miffed, and why. Crowley only looked that innocent when he was nothing of the sort. “Not at the moment, no,” he said. “I could go for a spin.”

“Right.” Aziraphale headed for the park, Crowley slouching along beside him. If Crowley wanted a reaction, he had best get ready to be disappointed. Aziraphale had spent the past six thousand years doing battle with occult forces; he was not about to let them get the best of him now that he was retired, just because said occult forces felt like annoying him at the moment.

They were just crossing Jermyn Street when a lovely young woman in a very smart coat did a double take at them. “Anthony?” she said, then gestured to herself. “Annie! From the garden shop?”

“Oh right, of course,” Crowley said. And _smiled_ at her.

Aziraphale felt himself making an expression that might have been called _gaping_, if angels as a rule and Aziraphale in particular were not too dignified for such a thing. But Crowley’s genuine smiles were rare things. It was easy to tell the difference: the genuine ones brightened his face, while the false ones darkened it, albeit in a way that was no less appealing. But that was inevitable, with Crowley’s bone structure. He had very few unappealing expressions. Which - Aziraphale was getting off the subject, which was that Crowley _never_ smiled at random mortals accosting him in the street, not truly.

But he was smiling at this one.

The mortal in question didn’t seem to notice Aziraphale resolutely not gaping at them. “Always a bit hard to place people out of context, isn’t it?” she said to Crowley, laughing a little and tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’re looking well. Fit.”

“Ah, go on.”

“No, really!”

Aziraphale replaced his definitely-_not_-gaping with his most saintly expression of patience as this tiresome interaction dragged on, and waited for Crowley to introduce him. Crowley did not.

_Well._

“You ought to come in soon,” Annie From The Garden Shop said. “We’ve just got the new season in. You could come see if there’s anything you’re...you know. Keen on.”

Crowley’s smile widened and his eyebrows lowered. “Oh, I think I already know the answer to _that_.”

Aziraphale trod on his foot.

“Dreadfully sorry,” he said, completely insincerely. Crowley ignored him.

“Listen, we’ve got to get on, but I’ll be in later this week, yeah?” he said.

Annie From The Garden Shop twirled a curl around her finger. “I’ll be there,” she said. “Bye, Anthony!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and started for the park again. Crowley tagged along at his elbow.

“What’s that noise?” Crowley asked after a moment. “Angel, are you grinding your teeth?”

Yes. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, _Anthony_,” Aziraphale said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why would I be grinding my teeth?”

“I thought you liked my name,” Crowley said.

“It’s not your name!”

“Well, they can’t pronounce the sigil bit,” Crowley said, gesturing vaguely to indicate the entirety of the human race.

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Aziraphale sniffed. “I just didn’t realize you were on a false first name basis with half of London.”

“Can I help it if I’m friendly?”

“Bollocks. You haven’t been remotely friendly for at least two thousand years.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe it’s my New Year’s Resolution. ‘Be friendlier.’”

“It’s October!”

“Jewish New Year. Just last week.” Crowley was barely hiding his smirk,but his gait was too unpredictable for Aziraphale to kick him in the shins, so Aziraphale just stuck his nose in the air and proceeded into the park in dignified silence.

The leaves were well into their turning, flaring in red and gold all round them, and _almost_ as bright and striking as Crowley’s hair against the stark blue of the sky. The air was cool and crisp. Aziraphale took a deep breath of it and counted to ten. It was a lovely fall day. He _would_ enjoy it.

There was an ice cream vendor by the side of the path, one of the last stragglers before they all closed up for the winter. Crowley jerked his head towards it. “Buy you an ice cream?”

Aziraphale had the distinct sense that he was either being bribed, or set up for some new annoyance, but...well, he _did_ fancy a strawberry lolly. “Oh, all right,” he said.

Crowley didn’t move, but he let his glasses slip far enough down his nose that Aziraphale could see his eyes cut over to the ice cream vendor and then back to Aziraphale’s, where they held. Challenging. “Although I don’t know if he’s selling anything as _delicious_ as he is,” he murmured.

Aziraphale drew himself up straight. “Right, that is _quite enough_,” he snapped, so loudly that the ice cream vendor looked their way in surprise. “We are going _home_.”

“But angel…” Crowley said, that innocent expression back on his face. Aziraphale ignored it, clamped a hand around Crowley’s wrist, and hauled him down the path. Once his ethereal senses told him that no mortals were watching, he snapped his fingers and they were back in the flat in Mayfair.

“Well.” Crowley freed his wrist and made a show of dusting himself off. “That was abrupt.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Aziraphale said, voice low and dangerous. “With your flirting and your _hips_ and your _Anthony_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley said virtuously.

“Yes, you do,” Aziraphale said, moving forward and backing Crowley into the reason he’d brought them to the flat and not the bookshop: the bedroom. Of all the rooms in Crowley’s flat that Aziraphale had made more welcoming and less like a Soviet prison, this was his favorite. Although at the moment he was less interested in the cheery curtains and matching throw pillows and more in the demon who was doing his utmost to drive Aziraphale to distraction while pretending he was doing no such thing.

He seized Crowley’s necktie in his fist and pulled him in close. “You can bat your eyelashes at everyone who passes by,” he said. “You can wiggle your snakey behind at them. You can make them laugh. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re _mine_. And any time you start to forget, I will bring you back here and remind you.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked defiantly, but the flush crawling up his throat gave him away. “How?”

Aziraphale bit at his mouth, then shoved him back onto the bed. Crowley arched his spine and bared his throat, and Aziraphale was on him in an instant, miracling Crowley’s glasses onto the nightstand and his clothes onto the floor.

Crowley scrabbled at Aziraphale’s waistcoat, straining the antique seams. “You too,” he gasped. “Clothes...off.”

“_You_ are not in charge here,” Aziraphale said, but another miracle sent his own clothes to the chair, neatly folded.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Crowley said, pressing all of his lean, dreadful, _tempting_ body against Aziraphale’s. “Your clothes go on the chair but mine go on the floor.”

“Behave yourself next time and maybe you’ll get yours folded too,” Aziraphale said, bracing his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. He put a little divine strength in it, so that Crowley couldn’t just writhe free.

“Yeah?” Crowley asked, pushing against Aziraphale’s grip. When he couldn’t budge it, his slitted pupils dilated. “And what do I get if I’m bad?”

“As if you haven’t spent all afternoon trying to find out,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him, bruisingly hard. Crowley moaned shamelessly into his mouth.

“What can I say?” he gasped when Aziraphale pulled back. “I’m inquisitive like that.”

Aziraphale shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid you’ve only brought this on yourself,” he said, and kissed his way down the column of Crowley’s throat, the cords straining against the reddened skin, bestowing an ironic kiss on his jumping Adam’s apple - where _had_ the humans come up with that one? - before chasing his flush further down. Arousal left Crowley blotchy and sweaty, as far from the coolly flirtatious persona he’d projected all afternoon as it was possible to be, and Aziraphale traced the color with his tongue. Here, here was the Crowley that was just for him, and Aziraphale, glutton that he was, wanted to taste it all.

Crowley squirmed deliciously as Aziraphale moved lower, stomach quivering beneath Aziraphale’s lips. With the angel’s hands off his shoulders he was free to move but didn’t, except to fist the bedsheets as Aziraphale sank his teeth into Crowley’s rangy inner thigh.

“Angel!” he cried, hips twitching up.

Aziraphale soothed the sting with his tongue and _tsked_. “Don’t fuss. If you behaved yourself, I wouldn’t have to leave my mark on you.” He sucked a thoughtful bruise into the opposite thigh, close to the seam of Crowley’s narrow hip. “What’s the American phrase? ‘Staking out one’s territory’? You, you wicked serpent, are my territory.”

Crowley gasped a breathless laugh as Aziraphale nipped and sucked pink, angry marks across his hips and thighs, never quite turning his attention to the hard cock inches from his face. “Yeah? And where’s the stake?”

Aziraphale shook his head, the picture of disappointment. “You are not taking this at all seriously.” He snapped his fingers, and Crowley’s tie flew from the pile of clothes on the floor to twine about the demon’s wrists, then tugged them upwards to tie them to the headboard.

Crowley’s breath caught audibly.

It was a flimsy tie. Crowley could probably have wriggled free without using his powers; miracling himself out would have taken barely a thought. But all he did was gaze at Aziraphale with wide, amber eyes and tremble, his mouth wet and open.

“I want to make sure you understand,” Aziraphale said. He wrapped his hand around Crowley’s flushed cock, just firm enough to be a little uncomfortable. “This is mine.” He moved that just-shy-of-painful grip to Crowley’s balls, and Crowley whimpered. “These are mine.” He pushed Crowley’s legs further apart and let his thumb probe at Crowley’s hole. “And this is mine. _Only_ mine. Do you need me to show you?”

“Angel…” Crowley whined.

Aziraphale raised his voice - and if he put a little divine force into it, well, there was no longer anyone to tell him not to. “Do. You. Need. Me. To. Show. You?”

Crowley shook beneath him. His pupils were blown so wide they nearly hid the yellow. “_Yes_,” he breathed.

Aziraphale wanted the lube, so suddenly the lube was there, in his hand. He could have prepared the way with a miracle, but there was something somewhat clinical about that, and he didn’t want clinical. He wanted mess, and heat, and the feel of his pulse beating fast against Crowley’s even though neither of them really needed a pulse to begin with.

Crowley moaned when Aziraphale sank a wet finger into him, gentle but relentless. There was that heartbeat, throbbing hot against Aziraphale’s finger. “Yesss,” he said again but a gasp this time, like the air had been punched out of him.

“This is where you belong,” Aziraphale said, stroking Crowley, stoking his fire from the inside. “Not in the garden shop. Not in the cafe. Here, with your legs spread, in my bed.”

“_My_ bed,” Crowley managed.

“_Our_ bed,” Aziraphale corrected, and Crowley sobbed. “Our flat. Our _side_.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley strained at the tie and pushed his hips up. “_Please_.”

“Oh, _now_ you want me,” Aziraphale said dryly, and hooked his finger.

“Ah! I always - always want you,” Crowley said, nearly all the irony shaken from his tone. Not all of it - he wouldn’t have been Crowley without any irony in him - but enough that Aziraphale took pity on him and pushed a second finger in alongside the first. Crowley sobbed out his gratitude.

“Mine,” Aziraphale said again, stroking, pumping, scissoring his fingers as Crowley writhed beneath him. “My wicked, wily, beautiful serpent.”

“Yes, yes, all yours,” Crowley agreed. “I am, angel, I’m yours.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “Are you just saying that because you want my cock?”

“I - ” Crowley’s eyes went wide as he sensed the trap. Aziraphale hid a smile as he watched Crowley puzzle it out, his usually clever brain derailed with _wanting_. He couldn’t say that he didn’t want Aziraphale’s cock, especially because it would have been patently a lie - but he couldn’t say he _only_ wanted it either, because that would mean he hadn’t learnt his lesson.

“I want your cock _because_ I’m yours,” he managed finally, triumphantly. “I want you to show me I belong to you.”

The naked earnestness in his voice nearly undid Aziraphale. “Very good, darling,” he said, and withdrew his fingers. Crowley’s whine of protest was cut off by Aziraphale reaching for the lube again, and then he was positioning himself, hitching Crowley’s legs up around him, and Crowley was straining up, every line of his body desperate and imploring.

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale said, and pushed in.

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale bottomed out. He’d gone in fast and hard because he could - it was difficult to hurt a demon, especially one who enjoyed buggery as much as Crowley did - but also because he _wanted_ Crowley to feel it; he wanted it to linger.

“Yesyesyessss,” Crowley hissed, clutching at him with his legs because he couldn’t do it with his arms. “Fuckmefuckmefuckme, Aziraphale, _please!_”

“Is this what you need?” Aziraphale asked, pulling out almost all the way and thrusting in again hard, over and over until the sweat stood out on his skin.

“_Yes_,” Crowley sobbed.

“Can anyone else fuck you like I can?”

“No, Aziraphale, only you, angel, _please_ let me touch you!”

Crowley _was_ touching Aziraphale - thighs suctioned around his hips, hard cock bumping Aziraphale’s stomach with every thrust, and of course the tight heat of him inside, unbearably sweet - but he looked wild and desperate, and Aziraphale took pity on him, flicking his fingers to miracle the tie away from around Crowley’s wrists.

Immediately Crowley’s arms were around him, all the wiry strength of them, his sharp nails digging into Aziraphale’s back until it stung. Aziraphale liked it, liked it so much he sped up the rhythm of his hips. It was even harder to hurt an angel than a demon, and besides, he didn’t exactly mind knowing he’d see marks on his back for the next few days every time he looked over his shoulder in the mirror.

After all, he was Crowley’s too.

“Angel,” Crowley said, hips rocking up to meet Aziraphale’s. “Yes, angel, please, I love you, don’t stop.”

“I love you so much.” Aziraphale nipped at Crowley’s earlobe, dug his fingertips into Crowley’s narrow hips, leaving bruises like guides for next time: Hold Here, Grip There, Love For Eternity. “Dreadful tease that you are. Wicked...beautiful…_wonderful_ creature.” He tried to kiss Crowley and barely managed it, both of them panting too hard to form a proper seal. It was almost better that way.

“I can’t...I need…” Crowley tried to reach between them and Aziraphale swatted his hand away.

“_Mine_,” he said, and Crowley shuddered beneath him. “You impatient thing.”

“I’ve been waiting!”

“We’ve barely started!” Aziraphale said as if he too wasn’t aching for release.

Crowley let out a shaky laugh. “Been hard since you…_oh_,” he groaned as Aziraphale wrapped a hand around him. “Since you got cross in the cafe.”

“_Crowley_.” It was meant to be admonishing. It came out adoring. “I should leave you like this.” He fucked Crowley harder and smooched the snake tattoo by his ear.

“Don’t,” Crowley said. “Don’t ever leave me.” Just a few months ago his voice would have been tinged with panic over the possibility that Aziraphale might mean it; now it was just rough with physical need. Aziraphale’s chest would have warmed at the proof that Crowley trusted him to stay if he hadn’t already been practically aflame and could get no hotter.

“Never,” he said anyway, just to be on the safe side, and kissed Crowley again.

Whatever Crowley planned to say in response was lost in a plaintive mewl as Aziraphale stroked him faster, fucked him just that little bit harder. “Go on, my darling,” Aziraphale said, watching him closely, unwilling to miss his favorite sight in the world. “Go ahead. Show me you’re mine.”

“I - oh - _Aziraphale_!” Crowley gasped, and came all over Aziraphale’s fist.

Aziraphale fucked him through it, then gentled as Crowley went boneless against the mattress. Even though it was a game at heart, Aziraphale couldn’t help the unangelic swelling of pride and possessiveness at this miracle no one else got to see: Crowley, languid and sated and beautiful in their bed, ruddy and wilting like a late summer rose.

He started to pull out, and Crowley’s golden eyes snapped open as he sank his nails into Aziraphale’s back again. “Don’t you dare,” Crowley hissed.

“You’ve finished,” Aziraphale protested. “It can’t be comfortable…”

“You come inside me right now or I will walk straight out that door and flirt with every human from here to John o’Groats,” Crowley said, and punctuated it by tightening around Aziraphale.

“Ngk,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley grinned.

“Go on, then,” he said, and lay back.

It didn’t take long, not with Crowley looking at him like that, all challenge and tease. Aziraphale spent rather a long time with his forehead on Crowley’s breastbone afterwards, breathing hard and trying to remember how to work his toes.

Finally he rolled off and onto his back. Crowley immediately slithered up him like kudzu, head pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale’s fingers lost themselves in Crowley’s soft hair.

“Well,” Aziraphale said after a long and very contented silence. “Did you get what you wanted?”

He could feel Crowley’s smile pressed into his sternum. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

Aziraphale drummed his fingertips on the back of Crowley’s neck and Crowley let out a contented sigh. “You know, for a demon, you’re a dreadful liar.”

“I’m meant to be.”

“I mean you’re dreadful _at_ it, not dreadful for _doing_ it.”

“I’m a _spectacular_ liar.”

“You’re rubbish.”

“How dare you.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s chest. “Casting such aspersions on my bad name.”

Aziraphale’s arms tightened around Crowley’s shoulders. “I love you, you know,” he said. “So terribly much.”

He couldn’t see Crowley’s face from this angle, but Crowley tucked his chin anyway, as if to hide better. “I know,” he mumbled, muffled against Aziraphale’s skin.

Aziraphale could have said more. He could have said, “Yes, I still think every part of you is beautiful, from your black wings to your infernal eyes.” He could have said, “No, I’ll never cast you out for testing your boundaries, and there is nothing you could do that I would not forgive.” He could have said, “Don’t worry, I haven’t got tired of you, and never will.”

But if he did, Crowley would suddenly find that he was very busy somewhere else, and refuse to talk about it when he came back. So Aziraphale stroked his hair, and obeyed his cues when Crowley waved them in his face, and loved his demon by degrees. At least until Crowley could bear to be loved all at once.

And if Crowley’s need for reassurance dovetailed rather nicely with Aziraphale’s admittedly unangelic possessiveness to liven up their bedroom...well, neither one of them was complaining.

“_I_ should try it,” he said, teasing, to lighten the mood. “Flirting with others while you’re around. What would you do?”

Crowley snorted. “You don’t know how to flirt.”

“I most certainly do.”

“It’s a lot harder to pick up gentlemen with the _gavotte_ than it used to be, angel.”

“Ah, yes, but I learnt _that_.” Aziraphale brushed the short hairs at the base of Crowley’s skull the wrong way and felt him squirm. “I would just have to learn _contemporary_ dances. I’ve heard of something called ‘the Macarena.’” Crowley snorted. “And...I believe it’s called ‘twerking?’”

Crowley lifted his head and gave Aziraphale one of the soft smiles that Aziraphale liked best, the ones no one else ever saw. “Angel, if you twerk for anyone but me, I’ll burn down the entire West End.”

“You wouldn’t just take me back here and ravish me?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to, because the flat would have burnt down. But I’d find somewhere to do it. After the burning.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Crowley put his head back down, and Aziraphale felt him grow even more languid. He was obviously drifting off to sleep. Aziraphale still didn’t care much for sleeping, except on special occasions, but he did like holding Crowley while _he_ slept, so it worked out. Besides, there was a book on the nightstand.

“Angel?” Crowley mumbled. He had his face hidden in Aziraphale’s chest again, and from the sound of his voice he was half asleep, which together was probably what made him able to say, quietly enough that mortal ears might not have heard it: “...Say it again?”

Aziraphale smoothed a hand over Crowley’s mussed, flaming hair. “You’re mine,” he said softly, with all the love he could possibly pack into two words. Being an angel, it was rather a lot.

Crowley lost that last little bit of tension. “Good,” he said, and fell asleep.

Aziraphale smiled, and reached for his book, and held his demon until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi [on tumblr](https://pluckyredhead.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
